


Not Necessarily the Best Policy

by five_ht



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-06
Updated: 2011-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_ht/pseuds/five_ht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a lot of feelings, mostly about Eames' penis. Yusuf's accidental truth drug helpfully illuminates them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Necessarily the Best Policy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the truth drug/dirty talk prompt at cherrybina's [Kink Fest 2.0](http://cherrybina.livejournal.com/239684.html).

"Is it, like, part of the point man job description that they're the automatic guinea pig for all experimental compounds?" Ariadne asks, tilting her head as she watches Arthur's apparently peaceful sleep.

Yusuf seems to consider this. "Well, to be completely accurate, the initial testing is done on rats. So technically the rats are the guinea pigs."

"Yes, you wouldn't give him a compound for shared dreaming before you injected it into a completely different species that in all likelihood has no ability to dream nor any higher thought, that would just be unethical." Eames muses, though he's not actually concerned; Yusuf hasn't killed anyone yet. Two close calls is a pretty good record for a dream chemist.

"Primates are really expensive, alright?" Yusuf says absently, recording numbers from several gauges that Eames has always suspected were purely decorative. "And the ethical code is ridiculous."

Eames takes his eyes off Arthur, finally, to give Yusuf a look of incredulity. "You're a criminal chemist who runs an illegal dream den out of his basement, who says you have to follow ethical guidelines?"

Yusuf shrugs, placing his clipboard on the tray next to Arthur's sleeping form and sinking back into his chair to watch with the rest of them. "It's a tight community of serious scientists. Mistreatment of animal subjects is frowned upon; I'd be shunned."

"Love," Eames turns to Ariadne, "How many times a day do you ask yourself how your life got to this point?"

"At least a dozen, the last time I counted."

They lapse into silence then, Ariadne doodling in her sketchbook, Yusuf occasionally taking notes.

"Are we kicking him?" Eames asks after a few minutes.

"Running out the clock, don't sound so hopeful." Yusuf glances at the PASIV's timer. "45 seconds now."

"Is there a protocol in place for the day when he finally wakes up crazy?" Ariadne asks.

"That's a good question, actually," Eames says, looking at Yusuf.

"He won't wake up crazy," Yusuf assures them, which Eames takes as a "no".

Arthur, as it turns out, _seems_ to wake up just fine. He blinks back to consciousness, rolling his shoulders as he sits up in his chaise.

"That was excellent," he says, before Yusuf can speak. "Projections didn't notice a thing until I'd rebuilt most of Times Square, and they didn't attack until I started defying physics."

Yusuf grins, removing the cannula from Arthur's arm. "So do you think it might work?"

Arthur laughs at that, swinging his feet to the floor. "You've got a long way to go before you make a compound to keep a militarized mind from ripping us to shreds. You haven't even tested it with multiple dreamers yet."

It's the tone, more than the words, that leaves them all blinking in surprise.

"But... it's excellent?" Yusuf says.

"There's a big gap between excellent and perfect," Arthur says matter-of-factly, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up enough to give a glimpse of flesh on his hip, tinted with what Eames knows is a bruise, because he put it there. "I saw that," he says, and Eames starts when he realizes Arthur is addressing him.

"Saw what, exactly?" Eames is acutely aware of Ariadne and Yusuf staring curiously between them.

"You're checking out my ass. If you want a quickie in the bathroom, I'm going to need a snack first," Arthur says breezily, starting across the workshop to the cart where they've taken to storing various junk food items. He's halfway there before he freezes, and everyone sees it, because everyone is _staring_ at him.

"What the _fuck_ did I just say?"

~~~

"It's a _truth drug_?" Eames laughs, "You cannot expect us to believe that that's possible."

"You invade people's dreams and impersonate their loved ones for a living, don't give me impossible."

"Yusuf, if this is permanent, I am going to make you watch while I smash all your most expensive pieces of equipment.," Arthur pauses, taking a deep breath, "And then I'll murder you."

"And the terrifying thing is, you know he really means it," Ariadne says.

"It shouldn't be permanent," Yusuf says, just as confidently as he says everything else, "Nothing about this compound is strong enough to actually alter any synaptic pathways, likely you're just experiencing an overproduction of certain neurotransmitters, it'll wear off like any other drug would."

"How do we know how long it'll take?" Arthur demands, "Once I took ecstasy and refused to get out of Eames' lap for twelve hours straight." he looks alarmed even as he speaks, staring at Eames helplessly as he says, "I fucking hate you, Yusuf."

"So how long have you two been together?" Ariadne asks, grinning that grin that Eames always did suspect was evil.

"Six months, one week and two days," Arthur says immediately, before Eames can open his mouth to try and save him. Everyone gapes at that, but none moreso than Eames.

"Do... do you know it down to the hour?" Yusuf asks curiously.

Eames reaches out to stop Arthur from raising his arm to check his watch. "Not necessary, love."

Arthur's eyes narrow accusingly at Ariadne and Yusuf. "I'm going home." he declares, but Eames is still holding his wrist, and Yusuf claps a hand on his shoulder before he can try to stand.

"Ah," Yusuf says, finally looking somewhat apologetic, "I'm afraid I can't let you leave. I need to monitor your vitals. If something preventable happens and I'm not there..."

"Is something _likely_ to happen?" Eames asks, raising an eyebrow at Yusuf.

"I wouldn't classify accidentally discovering a truth drug as 'likely', but here we are," is all the response Yusuf gives, pulling a penlight from his pocket.

"Can she at least leave?" Arthur asks, glancing at Ariadne.

"Hey!" Ariadne says.

"You're taking advantage of me!" Arthur accuses, and Yusuf has to grip his skull to keep him still, shining the light into his eyes.

"New rule," Eames declares, watching Yusuf replace his light and press two fingers to Arthur's wrist, "No one asks Arthur any questions for the remainder of the day."

"Why can't everyone just go home?" Arthur says, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

"We've only got two days to finish the planning, you know how tight this schedule is." Eames says, and against his better judgement, he puts his hand on Arthur's thigh. In for a penny...

"That feels nice," Arthur says mildly, then lets out a long, exasperated breath through his nose. "Fine."

The workshop door opens, and in strides Cobb, coffee in hand, whistling.

"And where the fuck have you been?" Arthur demands, sitting up straight. "We're on a tight schedule here!"

Cobb freezes, blinking in alarm. "Pardon?"

~~~

With the situation explained to Cobb - complete with unprompted and unwittingly hilarious commentary from Arthur - they set Arthur up on one of the beds in the far corner of the room, armed with Ariadne's blueprints to memorize, because it's the only useful activity anyone can think of that doesn't require him to speak.

Not that that stops him.

"Grabbing him on the street seems like the best option," Cobb is saying, "As we'll need his keys, but then we'll have to get him up four flights of stairs to his apartment. And I've got this thing with my back..."

"Of _course_ you do," Arthur interjects, and Eames pipes up before Arthur can dig himself any deeper.

"I can handle it."

"Are you sure?" Cobb asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he makes an obvious effort to pretend Arthur is not in the room.

"Yeah, he's--"

"Oh, Eames can handle it," Arthur singsongs, still looking placidly at the blueprints, "He once picked me up and fucked me against the wall for 45 minutes straight, don't underestimate his strength."

"Oh, Jesus," Eames groans.

"It always seems like such a good idea until I say it," Arthur says miserably.

"This is the greatest day," says Ariadne.

"I hate you all," Arthur sighs, "Except Eames, I really--"

"Arthur," Eames says loudly, "Why don't you go to the bathroom for a while?"

"That is an excellent idea," Arthur leaps up from the bed and strides into the bathroom with the blueprints, slamming the door behind him.

~~~

But it doesn't work, of course it doesn't, because that would have been too easy. Not only does Yusuf insist on checking Arthur's vitals not five minutes after he retreats to the bathroom, but Arthur's condition seems to include an urgent need to _share_ , rather than simply voice, all of his thoughts, and the bathroom walls don't seem to cut it as an audience.

After the fifth time he emerges to offer Ariadne what he thinks will be a helpful suggestion on her designs ("Having this hallway here makes absolutely no logical sense, what's wrong with you?") he gives up, slinking back over to the bed.

"The bathroom floor hurts my ass, because it's tender from where Eames was smacking it when he was fucking me last night."

He doesn't even look surprised or angry anymore, just resigned.

"I really want to go home now," Cobb says, taking his line out of the PASIV.

"Arthur," Eames takes his line too, settling back in his chair, "Cobb and Ariadne and I are going under for ten minutes. Yusuf will be here with you. Don't..." he trails off, realizing that no instruction will have any effect. "Just think of Yusuf's innocent soul, yeah?"

Ariadne pushes the plunger, and Eames feels himself being pulled under.

It's not really a practice run, not without Arthur, but it gives Cobb a chance to test the maze and Eames a chance to refine his forgery. Or it would, if he could concentrate on anything but what Arthur may or may not be saying to Yusuf topside. He prays Arthur doesn't think to explain the marks on his wrists when Yusuf takes his pulse. He prays there's no call for Yusuf to lower the collar of Arthur's shirt. _God help them all_ if the word "father" comes up for any reason.

Knowing it's only ten minutes of real time doesn't help. Arthur can burn through a lot of topics in ten minutes. It's a miracle Eames lasts the session without shooting himself out.

"Oh thank god," Yusuf exclaims as soon as Eames opens his eyes. He jumps, alarmed to see Yusuf sitting so close. "I can't take it, there are some things I should never know about you _and now I know them all._ "

"What did he say?" Ariadne says groggily, removing the needle from her arm.

"You're not supposed to ask--" Yusuf starts, but Arthur talks over him.

"I was just talking about Eames' dick. It's not my fault he's fucking huge, how unfair is it that I can't share that joy with everyone?"

Cobb starts humming loudly.

"I'm not available for sharing," Eames says, then lowers his voice so only Yusuf can hear, "We are not getting anything done like this. Everyone needs to get the hell out of here."

Yusuf looks torn between responsibility and desperation. "I need to monitor..."

"I can take his bloody pulse and make him touch his finger to his nose, but I can't make him shut up about my cock. I'll call you the moment something goes wrong. You have a very easy choice, mate."

Yusuf glances at Arthur, who is waxing poetic to Ariadne about that perfect angle that Eames always knows how to hit.

"Right," Yusuf says, standing. "Ariadne, Dom, I think it's time we left Arthur to -- more... capable hands," he cringes at his own words and starts packing up the PASIV.

"Oh thank god," Cobb practically jumps from his chair, gathering up what appear to be a few random papers and shutting them into his briefcase.

"I'm actually sorry, Dom," Arthur calls to Cobb's retreating back, looking surprised at himself.

Ariadne waves cheerily as she follows Yusuf out the door. "Take good care of him, Eames!"

"Oh, trust me, he will!" Arthur replies, and Eames throws a pen at the door as it closes.

"I hate them all so much," Arthur says mildly, then his expression softens as Eames turns to him. "Thanks. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Thanks."

"Don't apologize," Eames tells him, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. "It's not me that's talking. I just didn't want you to give them any more ammo."

Arthur actually pauses at that, like he might be thinking. Eames isn't sure what that means, but he hopes it's a good sign. "Thank you for thinking of me," Arthur says with sincerity. He reaches out, fingers playing along Eames' belt. "Now you've got me all to yourself."

"Hmm," Eames says, his eyes running over Arthur's sprawled form, down and then up, to a smirk with quite an obvious intent. "You want to shag? Right now, really?"

Arthur grins, "When have I ever not wanted to _shag_?"

"But you're not..." Eames wants to say _in your right mind_ , but that doesn't quite seem accurate.

"I'm just being honest," Arthur says simply, "Maybe there are things I should be saying to you that I haven't yet."

When Eames hesitates still, Arthur sits up, nosing at his shoulder. "Or maybe I should just be telling you how fucking bad I need it right now," he murmurs, fingers tipping open the buttons on Eames' shirt, "How I want you to shove your cock in my mouth until my jaw hurts, and I want you to fuck me bare and leave me dripping, and I want you to fuck me again while I'm still wet, oh fuck, Eames, I love the way you feel inside me, I love how it hurts because you're so fucking _big_. Come on, come on, you're always telling me to get talkative, how can you turn this down?"

Arthur slides Eames' shirt from his shoulders and Eames finds himself with a squirming body in his lap, Arthur dipping his head to nuzzle at Eames' chest hair. "How can you turn it down?" he asks again, biting at Eames' collar bone.

A better man might. Fortunately, Eames has no interest in being the better man.

"You know I can't turn it down," Eames winds his hand in Arthur's hair.

"I didn't really think you would," Arthur says, letting Eames drag him up for a kiss, but only a brief one. Eames doesn't really want Arthur's mouth occupied for too long.

"How about you tell me a little more about what you want?"

Arthur reaches down to press his palm against the crotch of Eames' trousers. "This," he says, licking his lips, "I want to get you hard in my mouth, but I don't know if I can stop talking long enough to do it. I love that, feeling how big you get, cause it's almost too much, it feels like I won't be able to open my mouth wide enough."

Eames groans, "I'm afraid that ship has sailed anyway," he presses up against Arthur's fingers, unable to remember another time when he got so hard from so little.

"Mmm, that's okay," Arthur smiles, sliding easily to his knees, "I like it best when it's hard."

"That's no shock," Eames says, petting Arthur's hair as he opens Eames' trousers, tugging his cock out and stroking his hand up its length, fingers playing around the head.

"Fuck, your foreskin," Arthur sighs, playing with it, working it back, "That gets me so hot. I'd never been with an uncut guy before you, I think you ruined me."

"Guess you'll have to stick around, then," Eames says, more focused on Arthur's hand and his mouth than his own words.

"I want to," Arthur says, and before Eames has to try and respond to that, Arthur is leaning in and taking an indulgent lick of precome, just starting to wet the head of Eames' cock. "That's the best taste," he moans, "I love when I get that on my tongue when I'm sucking you, and I know you're getting off."

"Arthur," Eames says, tightening his fingers in Arthur's hair, "I desperately want to fuck your mouth right now, but I never want you to stop talking."

"That's a dilemma," Arthur muses, almost to himself, lapping at Eames' cock with little kitten licks, groaning each time. "You could fuck my mouth, I love that. When you're just about to come and you grab my hair and shove your cock down my throat, and I try not to let you know when I choke, because I'm afraid you'll stop, but I love it..." he trails off, wrapping his lips around Eames and tonguing at him softly.

"Christ," Eames can't stop his hips from raising off the bed, pushing another inch into Arthur's mouth, but Arthur doesn't stay long, apparently unable to keep quiet.

"I hope none of this is a surprise," he says, still licking between his words, utterly absorbed. "I mean, I know I don't say much, but 'slut' is a pretty specific term of endearment, so I figured you knew how I felt about all this."

"I knew," Eames says, and it comes out half-laugh, half-moan as Arthur takes him in again. "But hearing you say it does make me want to fuck you into next week."

Arthur comes off again, this time with shiny lips and a wicked, wanton smile. "If that were possible in this physical universe, I'd want it too."

Eames has the presence of mind to roll his eyes, "How about I fuck you _until_ next week?" he says, pulling Arthur up from the floor to stand between his knees, making quick work of his shirt.

"That's probably not-- not that practical," Arthur's voice breaks as Eames flicks his tongue against a nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. "But it sounds good. A week of getting fucked, I'd be up for that."

Eames finds himself grinning against Arthur's chest, working on opening his trousers while Arthur squirms.

"I really want you to fuck me now, can we get to that?" Arthur steps out of his pants, hands roaming over Eames' torso restlessly. "I'm so hard, I'm -- when I think about it too long, how bad I want it, it gets so I can't think about anything else. Last week, I don't know, I was horny all day, I wasn't busy and it was all I could think about. And you were under and all I wanted was to get on top of you and shove your cock inside me."

"You're going to kill me," Eames croaks, wrapping his fingers around Arthur's cock and smearing the moisture he finds on the tip.

Arthur continues as though Eames wasn't serious: "Do you remember when you woke up, and I was in the bathroom? I was fingering myself."

Eames groans, pulling Arthur down into his lap where he belongs. "Are you--" but of course he's serious, he can't be anything but.

"I tried not to," Arthur rolls his hips, fitting Eames' cock into the dip of his arse and letting out a shaky breath. "I've never done that at work before, it's all your fault."

"My sincerest apologies," Eames says, sliding a finger between Arthur's cheeks and teasing over the tight clench of his hole. "Next time, wake me up and I'll join you. It is dreadfully sad to think of you so desperate for my cock and not able to have it."

He can practically feel Arthur struggling to formulate a cutting comeback, but his honesty wins out again. "I want it, Eames, just _fuck_ me."

"Do you want it like this?" Eames asks, taking hold of Arthur's hips and grinding him down. "In my lap just like this?"

Arthur shudders, but he shakes his head, "No, not -- not today. I want you over me, I want it hard."

Eames lifts him up a little, just because he can, just because it makes Arthur shiver. "Is that what you like best?"

"Sometimes," he says, "Almost always. I just like how heavy you are, that feels so fucking good."

"I'm happy to oblige," Eames says, scraping his teeth over Arthur's throat before depositing him on the bed. "Sit tight."

Eames stands, letting his open trousers fall to the floor and shoving his boxers with them.

"Don't fucking _leave_ ," Arthur says indignantly, "What are you doing?"

"Improvising," Eames says. He crosses the workshop to Ariadne's desk, rummaging in the drawer until he locates the tube of lotion he's watched her apply every thirty minutes.

Arthur looks horrified when Eames drops it on the bed. "Your dick will smell like Ariadne."

"And I know you'll still pick the hand creme over no cock at all," Eames crawls onto the mattress, shoving Arthur's legs apart and settling between them.

"I'll do a lot of things for cock," Arthur says sadly, in apparent agreement. "Oh god, please just fuck me."

Eames squeezes some of the lotion onto his fingers, grateful that it smells vaguely woody rather than like some off-putting floral arrangement. It's not outside the boundaries of the things he would put up with to get in Arthur's arse, but it really would have been odd to have a rose-scented cock.

"You're tight," Eames says as he presses two fingers inside Arthur, "You're really tight."

"Just wound up," Arthur says, inching his legs wider. "I can take it, you know I can, stretch me out."

Eames spreads his fingers obligingly, working against the resistance.

"Lotion's a little lacking," Arthur says frankly, through a moan. "I love your fingers. I wish you'd fuck me open more, though. I like it when I get you worked up enough to just shove your cock in me without even thinking about whether it'll hurt. I like it when it hurts like that."

Feeling a little like Arthur's honesty is catching, Eames groans, pushing in a third finger a little too soon. "I like that too."

"You should do it more," Arthur starts pushing down on Eames' hand in fluid, rhythmic waves, looking for harder and deeper. "You should just -- just slick yourself up some night and fuck me awake with no prep at all. I'd feel it for days, I fucking love that."

"Arthur--" Eames says, strangled.

"God, just fuck me," he says, "I don't care if it hurts, I want it to, fuck me." Arthur reaches down to grope for Eames' cock, pulling his knees up and spreading himself wide.

Eames pulls his fingers out, kissing Arthur as he whines at the sudden loss, fumbling blindly for the lotion. He spreads it on his cock with an unsteady hand, spilling it onto the cheap sheets on the bed, noting absently that he'll have to buy a new bottle unless he wants to risk Ariadne's tiny, furious wrath.

"Up," Eames grunts, coaxing Arthur's legs onto his shoulders. Arthur looks ready to speak, ready to beg or demand or just express his love for the situation, but then Eames is pushing into him, and nothing comes out but a moan.

It's so good, both of them swept up in Arthur's urgency, on edge and desperate, groaning into each other's mouths. Arthur is clenching like he's trying to pull Eames in, and he finds his words long before Eames' head stops spinning.

"Oh fuck, fuck, yes," Arthur's lost to it, and Eames can hardly breathe, "In, get in me, god you're so _hard_ , Eames, that feels so fucking good."

Eames means to go slower, he does, but his body is making its own decisions, shoving into Arthur before he can check the impulse, as deep as he can go.

"Fuck," Arthur growls, low and throaty, "That's -- that's good, fuck, come on," he wraps his arm around Eames' shoulders, pulling him down so Arthur's legs are crushed against his chest and he's gasping, struggling for breath as Eames starts to thrust.

"You'll be the death of me," Eames tells him, nipping at his jaw, his legs, any skin he can reach. "Possibly tonight."

"Talk to me," Arthur says, clearly not listening, "Tell me what you're thinking, tell me I'm a slut, talk to me."

"I don't think you need me to tell you you're a slut," Eames says, shifting onto his knees to give himself more leverage, to find that angle Arthur needs. "You know you're a slut, you're the one with this filth in your head."

Arthur manages to look smug, smiling through his moan. "Still like to hear you say it."

"Beautiful, incurable, filthy slut."

"Yeah," Arthur whines, starting to clench his jaw in that way that Eames has learned to look for. "Eames, fuck, harder."

The cheap, decrepit bed starts to squeak and groan under their weight, under Eames' thrusts. He can't hold out, but he knows Arthur can't either, so he doesn't fight the rising volume of his moans, the tension in his shoulders.

"Are you gonna come?" Arthur asks breathlessly, "Oh fuck, I want you to come, I want it in me, I want it--"

" _Fuck_ ," Eames takes hold of Arthur's legs, keeping him folded in half and putting his weight behind his movements. "Arthur, fuck," he gasps, and his orgasm hits him like a punch, with Arthur keening in his ear, clenching and groaning, spilling onto his own stomach as Eames fills him up.

Eames waits as long as he can let himself before he shifts, taking some of his weight off Arthur, letting his legs fall and slipping out of him in the process.

Arthur whimpers. "I hate that," he slurs, "Feels empty."

Eames is drifting, but Arthur is still mumbling, keeping Eames close with legs locked around his hips, nosing against his neck. "That was great, that was so good, I'm so wet."

"Arthur," Eames breathes, almost exasperated, because it's still hot, but now it's hot and _frustrating_ as his cock makes a very valiant but very fruitless effort to show its appreciation. He levers himself up on his elbows, and the view -- Arthur flushed and glassy-eyed, smiling softly -- is something that Eames would never attempt to comment on, because Arthur tends to make death threats at the mention of the word "adorable".

"I can feel it, I'm so glad we stopped using condoms, that was the best decision." He squirms, working his hand between his own legs and humming happily. "Thank you."

Eames very nearly laughs. "Yes, you _should_ be thanking me, it's such a hardship to come inside your tight little arse on a nightly basis, I don't know how I manage."

"I mean for all of it," Arthur says, still smiling, a secret, honest smile that makes Eames' breath short, because he's seen it, he knows it. "You're -- I'm really --"

Arthur seems to be struggling, possibly with his thoughts themselves, and Eames doesn't want him to wake up in the morning and realize he's said something he wanted to keep hidden, whether to Eames or to anyone else, no matter how much Eames might welcome it. So Eames kisses him.

"I know," he murmurs against Arthur's lips, and he hopes Arthur gets it. "Let's clean up and get out of here, yeah? If I'm going to play doctor in Yusuf's stead, I'd rather it be in someone's hotel room."

"Oh," Arthur groans, "I thought we could sleep here, but that's a bad idea."

"Monumentally. Ends in mocking and blackmail and possibly murder. Come on," Eames stands, offering Arthur his hand.

They wash up as best they can in the tiny bathroom, Arthur chattering away. He's already looking for round two by the time they reach the hotel, and Eames can't refuse, feeling that he should at least make an attempt to live up to a few of his promises.

Arthur's threatening round three before the second is over, but as it turns out, a day of incessant talking and enthusiastic sex (and taking unknown, brain-altering drugs from questionable chemists) can really sap your energy. He's snoring -- _snoring_ \-- as Eames pads around the room, switching off lights, drawing the curtains, setting the alarm on his cell phone.

He crawls under the covers and Arthur curls into Eames' side, sighing in his sleep.

~~~

Every morning, Eames regrets using that terrible, terrible smoke detector ringtone as his alarm.

"Shut _up_ ," he snarls, groping blindly over his shoulder until his phone falls mercifully silent. Arthur is stirring by the time Eames turns back to him, facing each other with their legs tangled.

"Hey," Eames says softly, watching him blink into consciousness, brows knitted until his eyes focus on Eames' face.

"Hey," he rasps.

"How are you feeling?" Eames shifts closer, pulling Arthur in with a hand on his back until they're flush, foreheads pressed together.

"Um. A little stupid."

"No need, it's all Yusuf's fault anyway," Eames says, "Has it worn off?"

Arthur pauses, humming thoughtfully. "Test me?"

Eames pulls back an inch so he can get a good look at Arthur's face. "Lie to me. What color are my eyes?"

"Brown."

"What sound does a cow make?"

"... Quack."

"How do you feel about my cock?"

Arthur grins. "You know I can't lie about that."

"Fair enough," Eames says, kissing him, again, and again, until they're both breathing a little harder, and he's palming Arthur's arse. He's just about to suggest a quickie before they have to pull back the covers, when the snooze alarm starts blaring.

"Fuck, that is the worst sound in the entire world," Arthur growls, reaching over Eames to stab it into silence. He brings his hand to his eyes, rubbing tiredly. "I have to go to work, don't I?"

Eames sighs. "You do."

"I'm not allowed to shoot Yusuf, am I?"

"You're not."

"The universe is fundamentally unfair."

"It is."

They lie for another minute, pressed together and kissing almost absently, until Arthur pulls back.

"You, ah... you stopped me last night. Before I said something, before we left the workshop. Do you remember?"

Eames does remember. He can't meet Arthur's eyes, so he dips his head to press his lips to Arthur's jaw. "I just didn't want you to say anything you might not be ready to say."

"Oh," Arthur says.

"I mean, I know," Eames says, planting a kiss on his neck and finally pulling back, finding him frowning in thought. "You don't have to say anything if you're not comfortable. I know."

"Okay," Arthur says slowly.

"And you know too, right?"

Arthur's expression softens then, his lips quirking in a smile. "Yeah."

"Whenever you're ready," Eames tells him, kissing him again then rolling over, swinging his legs out from under the covers and into the chilly air. "I'm hopping in the shower, if you'd like to join." he stands, rubbing at his eyes as he takes the first few stumbling steps toward the bathroom.

"Eames," Arthur says, and Eames turns, seeing Arthur sitting up in bed. "C'mere."

Eames walks back to the bed and lets Arthur pick his hand up, kissing his palm.

"I love you," Arthur says, like he never even considered hesitating.

Eames knows he's grinning, he can feel it splitting his cheeks. "Get up and shower with me so I can give you a proper seeing-to before you face the peanut gallery," he says, pulling Arthur out of bed, steadying him with a hand on the small of his back, pressing them together when he stands. "I know. I love you, too."

They end up late for work, arriving together with wet hair and Eames in yesterday's clothes, and no amount of gagging from Yusuf, laughter from Ariadne, or lamentations from Cobb can wipe the smug grin from Arthur's face.

All the same, Eames hides the key to Arthur's gun safe as soon as he gets a spare moment. Always best to take precautions.


End file.
